Lords and Ladies
by Hawki
Summary: Lords of the Fallen Story: It was a simple ball on a winter's night. But soon, things stopped being simple. Preaching, brawls, and three individuals caught in the middle of it all.
1. York

**Lords of the Fallen: Lords and Ladies**

**Chapter 1: York**

"Greetings, good sir. Have you heard of the Fallen God?"

"Beat it old man. Do I look like a knight to you?"

York laughed. No, the unenlightened did not look like a knight to him. Clad in furs, wielding a rickety spear and wearing a dented nasal helm, he looked like what he was – a guard standing outside the doors to d'Bala Manor.

"No, you do not look like a knight," York said, extending his arms out wide to embrace the unenlightened. "But all are equal in the eyes of the Fallen God! All are worthy of His benevolence."

"I said beat it."

"Dost thou intend to bar my way? Woulds't thou deny me passage?"

"Yes, I would," the guard said. "This is a ball event for people above you or me. Now beat it."

"Very well," York said. "I shall indeed…beat it."

And he drew out a copy of _The Hand of Creation_. Not that he could read the thing – such a privilege was reserved only for the priests of the Order of the Fallen, not lowly prophets such as himself. But it mattered not. He knew the words of the book. And more importantly, knew their meaning as well. He saw the guard grip his spear tighter, but he knew the rules. He knew that his order had secured freedom of speech on common land, and until he passed the doors that led to the manor's entrance, he had that privilege. And the Fallen God was with him. He would be strong. He would 'beat the book' as the saying went.

"In the beginning, there was God…"

"Oh, son of a-"

York ignored the unenlightened and kept reading. Just as he ignored the wind and snow around him, his feeble robes providing no defence against the winter chill. He gripped the five-fingered amulet of his order to steel himself.

"And God, in his infinite wisdom, looked out over Creation and beheld Void. And thus he declared, 'this cannot stand.' Where there is darkness, there must be light. Where there is death, there must be life.' And thus, the Lord brought both into the Void."

"How'd he do that?"

York continued, ignoring such a silly question. "The Almighty created the stars, the sun, the moon, and the earth. And on this earth, he brought life to stand in their light. He brought forward plants. He brought forward animals, who would rely on them. And finally, he brought forward Man. His greatest creation. The pinnacle of the world."

"Tell that to my frozen arse," the guard murmured. "Did your god have to make the world so cold?"

"But while there is light, there must still be darkness. Just as there is warmth, there must still be cold."

"Oh. That explains it."

York touched his amulet even harder. Why did the unenlightened have to ask so many questions? Could they not see the truth of their existence?

"And while the Almighty gave His children love, they did not reciprocate it. Love turned to distrust. Distrust turned to hatred. Hatred led to destruction. Destruction led to death."

"Love the rhyme thing you've got going there."

"And thus God fell, but not before ravaging the world in his last breath. A Fallen God. The Creator and Destroyer of Worlds. Lying in the cold of the lands of Prayer, so named as it became the abode of those still faithful to Him." He made the five fingered sign of his order, to symbolize the hand of the Creator, used in Creation itself. "And not until faith in His children is restored shall He rise again. To fix what he mended."

It was an abridged version of the tale. But he could see by the look of the guard's face that he wasn't interested. He was content to dwell in ignorance, and pay the eternal price in the next life. Perhaps one day, he might see the error of his ways. But if such a day were to come, it was not now.

And so, York took his book close. He let out a sigh, his breath appearing in the air in front of him. He-

**Crash!**

Stepped back as two men came flying out the window from the structure above. Both the priest and the man-at-arms jumped back as they came tumbling to the snowy ground. One reeked of alcohol. The other didn't. And it was he that York decided to focus on.

"Are you alright, good sir?" he asked as the guard looked on.

The man looked up at him in a daze. A beard, chiselled features, he looked like a man who had seen much. And might be willing to see and understand more.

"It is good timing if I do say so myself," York said. "I was giving a sermon of the Fallen God. Are you here for it?"

"Sermon my arse," the guard muttered. York ignored him, still focussed on the man below him. The man who let out a sigh.

"That's right," he groaned. "That's exactly what I'm here for."

For a moment, York wondered what had happened. How and why the two men had come tumbling out the window. Whether it was chance or providence that had delivered them to him.

As the drunken lord belched, he supposed it didn't matter.

* * *

_A/N_

_This was based on a challenge in a 'how-to-write'-type book, to write the same scene from the POV of two different characters, and show how their perceptions differ. This is actually the start chapter, a way of getting the overall story to three chapters and doesn't use one of the excerpts given. Still part of the overall plot though._


	2. Elizabeth

**Lords of the Fallen: Lords and Ladies**

**Chapter 2: Elizabeth**

Elizabeth hated fancy parties; she much preferred substantial conversation to this hypocritical simpering at each other in garments expensive enough to clothe a village for a year.

"Why Elizabeth, your dress looks absolutely stunning."

Elizabeth forced a smile as she saw Lady Lafitte d'Bala – a case in point of the type of people she preferred to avoid – approaching. Still tall, still dressed in emerald green, still the type of person she preferred to avoid. And unfortunately the hostess of the evening.

"Lady Lafitte," she said as she curtsied. "How splendid to see you."

"And you, my dear, and you!" the lady exclaimed, pinching Elizabeth's cheeks. "Goodness how you've grown."

"Yes, er…people have noticed." _Like everyone this evening._

Lafitte began talking about…something. On instinct Elizabeth forced a smile, and on instinct, she drowned her fellow noble's words out. Out of the corner of her left eye she could see her parents, the people who had dragged her along to this circus. Out of the corner of her right she could a gentleman leaning against the far wall, far removed from the social scene.

_Should've tried that myself._

"And I was just talking to Lord Lublin about this frightful winter we're having," she heard Lafitte say, the lady's words breaking her out of her distraction. "Honestly, at this rate, my land could lose half its flock."

"Indeed," Elizabeth said, her smile now becoming more of a lemon-sucking grimace. "And how about those who work the land? How many of them may freeze to death while we indulge ourselves in here?"

Lafitte stared at her. Briefly regretting her impetuousness, Elizabeth glanced at the man over in the corner, currently engaged in discourse with another man who was acting like he was drunk. He probably was.

"Oh dear, how kind of you," Elizabeth heard Lafitte say suddenly. "Honestly, thinking about the lower classes like that!"

And Elizabeth wished she was drunk as well. It might have allowed her to go home earlier.

"I'm serious," she said, gesturing around the ball room. "I mean, look at this," she exclaimed, gesturing around the ball room. "It's the dead of winter, we had a poor harvest, and yet we're feasting like kings."

"And queens," Lafitte said, taking two glasses of wine from a passing servant and handing one to Elizabeth. "Let us not forget we women too are entitled to such things."

"Are we?" Elizabeth asked, taking the liquor. "Can we in good conscience-"

Lafitte took a swill of her wine. Sighing, Elizabeth stared at hers – red. Likely grown in the vineyards of the Whitehead Valley, and likely worth more coin than a member of the "lower classes" would see in a year.

"You'll understand one day my dear," Lafitte said, putting her bony hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. "You're still young. I understand how the world might seem to you."

Elizabeth winced as the hag's fingers sunk into her shoulder, messing the blue fabric of her dress. At sixteen, she was among the youngest people in the hall. Too young for her words to count, but old enough that every gentleman around seemed intent on introducing her to a friend, a son, or themselves.

The sound of a belch echoed from across the room, cutting through the din. Both ladies glanced at the man who had let it out - the same man who Elizabeth had guessed was drunk earlier.

"Disgusting," Lafitte sniffed, nonetheless taking a sip of her own wine. She looked back at her counterpart. "Do you not drink yourself, child?"

"Hmm?" Elizabeth murmured, still glancing at the two men.

"Your wine, my girl. It has yet to touch your lips."

Elizabeth wanted to say that no, she didn't drink. Not out of abstinence or any religious fervour, but because she couldn't stand the taste. But she couldn't bring herself to. Why answer when the answer would be ignored? Why bother? Why-

"Coward!"

_Is that who I am? A coward?_

"Coward!" came the voice again. "Coward coward cow-"

And then Elizabeth saw the source of the voice – the drunken gentleman. The same gentleman who just received a fist into the jaw from the man he had been calling coward.

Lafitte screamed and dropped her glass. A chorus of gasps echoed throughout the hall. Elizabeth barely noticed, so intent was her focus on the men before her, fighting like savages. Holding nothing back.

She loved the sight. This was true life. True passion. True honesty. Made all the more exciting as the two men started wrestling along the ground.

"Enough!" she heard Lafitte exclaim. "This is madness! This is unseemly! This is-"

The men weren't listening to her. Elizabeth barely heard her either. She clutched her wine glass as the pair kept rolling across the floor, exchanging blows, and one of them still hurling the coward insult. She clutched even tighter as the non-drunk one grabbed his foe and slam him against one of the stain-glass windows.

"Madness," she heard Lafitte say. "Utter barbarity."

Perhaps, but entertaining to Elizabeth nonetheless. But as the cornered man belched, as his foe continued to hold him in place, second thoughts entered her mind – people had fought to death for entertainment in arenas before, and still did in the shadowed parts of the world. Who was she to lecture her fellow nobles on morality if she just stood by now?

"I…think you should drop him," she said, walking forward. "Lest you do something you may regret."

The non-drunken brawler looked at her. For a moment, he appeared to agree with her. But a moment later, his counterpart grabbed him by the shoulders and fell backwards, sending both crashing through the window out into the winter air.

_So much for that suggestion._

Slowly and steadily, the noise of conversation began to fill the hall again. Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth could see servants running for the exit. Why they hadn't intervened up until now, she didn't know. Not that she regrated their lack of intervention. It would have cut the fun early.

"Frightful," she heard Lafitte say. "Absolutely frightful." She grasped Elizabeth by the shoulder again. "Honestly, brawling like lowly commoners? Ruining this evening with no consideration for our wellbeing?"

"Oh, I don't know," Elizabeth said, taking Lafitte's hand off her shoulder. "I thought that was the best excitement we've had all evening."

Lafitte's jaw dropped.

"Well, it's been a lovely show," Elizabeth said, curtsying. "Goodnight, milady."

And with that, she began to walk off as well.

And for the first time this evening, produced a genuine smile.

* * *

_A/N_

_So, this was the first to use one of the two start-off points given to me. The phrase was "John hated fancy parties; he much preferred substantial conversation to this hypocritical simpering at each other in garments expensive enough to clothe an African village for a year." Changed it a bit around of course. Ch. 3 gets the alternate POV and opening._


	3. Harken

**Lords of the Fallen: Lords and Ladies**

**Chapter 3: Harken**

Harken hated fancy parties because there was never no sense to them: no kegs, no plain speaking, no fights to liven things up some.

"Sir Harken, how splendid to see you."

"Sir Harken, would you have time to meet my squire?"

"Sir Harken, are you free the next moon? My daughter's flower has started to blossom and-"

"Sir Harken!"

"Sir Harken!"

"Harken?"

"Sir Harken?"

_Gaaaaaaah!_

The entire night had been like that – a mix of elderly men and women congratulating him, a mix of men and women his age sizing up to him, and a few young men and women as well, the former of whom looked up to him, the latter of whom he looked down towards in a most un-knightly fashion.

"Sir Harken!"

Looked down at a particular area of their bodies, he reflected. Leaning against the wall of the ballroom, trying as best he could to look inconspicuous, his eyes nonetheless veered over towards the Lady Elizabeth, currently engaged in discourse with Lady Lafitte. What they were talking about he couldn't quite hear over the din of voices and instruments, but-

"Harken!"

But he had no time for such things anyway. Because Sir Lowell was making his way up to him.

"Do your ears not alert you to my presence?" the knight asked. He stumbled up against the wall.

_Piss off._

"Well? I must protest this treatment, fellow knight, for-"

"Go away," Harken said, meeting Lowell's bloodshot eyes with his weary own. "You're drunk."

The knight did a strange combination of laughing and belching. The stench of wine was on his breath.

"So tell me…Harken…" Lowell slurred, drawing out a waterskin and drinking what Harken suspected was anything _but _water." He hiccupped. "Ain't yar thing arnt it?"

Harken winced. He wanted to move away, but doing so would only take him back into the throng of people he'd spent all night avoiding. Lowell let out another belch that drew a look from Elizabeth and Lafitte.

_Like a rock and a hard place. Or a sword and axe._

Harken sighed. Swords and axes. He'd been caught between plenty of them over his years of service. He wished he was caught between them now. At least then he could fight his way out of his predicament.

"Aren't ya meant to be north?" Lowell asked, now engaged in an epic struggle of trying to put cork to waterskin. "Y'know…snow…stuff?"

"The Lands of Prayer?" Harken asked. "Yes. I would be. I would like to be there right now."

"Ah, ya glory hog you!"

Not glory, Harken told himself. Necessity. Belief. Some preached the return of the Fallen God, the Creator and Destroyer of Worlds. The belief that His body was up in the north. Harken wanted to go. But without sanction, he'd be a rogue knight. No better than Lowell in his own way.

"Y'know what I think?" Lowell asked, having finally got cork to waterskin. "Yur a coward."

_God help me._

"Coward…" he slurred, putting a hand on Harken's shoulder. "Yur here cause ya wanna be!"

Harken took his fellow knight's hand off his shoulder. Then he met his fellow knight's gaze. "Don't say that," he said.

"What?" he asked. "Coward?"

"There's that word again."

"Coward!" Lowell slurred, far louder than Harken cared for. "Coward coward cow-"

He never got the last "coward" out of his mouth. Harken delivered a fist to it before he could.

Someone screamed. Others gasped. Harken couldn't see who – all his attention was focussed on Lowell.

"Don't. Call. Me. Cow-"

The word was cut short as Lowell kicked him in the stomach, sending him sprawling. His head spinning, Harken looked up and saw his fellow knight get to his feet and move towards him. For someone whose breath reeked of the devil's drink, he could move surprisingly fast. Fast enough to jump down onto him and begin punching.

"Truly a battle for the ages!" Lowell cried. "Today, honour will be-"

Harken grabbed his fist and shoved it back into the knight's face. Grabbing his neck, he slammed it against the wooden floor.

"Enough!" he heard someone cry. "This is-"

Harken ignored them as the two knights began rolling across the floor, forcing anyone near them to scamper out of the way as fast as their fancy dresses would allow. Dresses of similar embroidery to the ones the knights were wearing.

"Coward!"

It wasn't so bad, Harken supposed. Had he been wearing his armour, he wouldn't have been able to be so agile. Thought were he wearing a gauntlet, his fist wouldn't hurt so much as he punched Lowell in his ugly mug. Regardless, he was able to pull Lowell up and slam him against one of the stain-glass windows.

"Coward…" Lowell slurred. "Coward…"

Harken sighed. "Is this what you wanted, Lowell? he whispered. "Another fight? For old time's sake?"

The knight belched. And Harken gave a sad smile of resignation. Of course it was, he told himself. Lowell had given him what he wanted. Course he had to deal with the fact that he'd brawled in front of every person of note in the land. And as he glanced back at them, he saw the Lady Elizabeth walking up to him.

"I think…you should drop him," she said. "Lest you do something you may regret."

_So young. Yet the only one with enough guts to-_

Lowell grabbed him by the shoulders. He fell back. And both knights went tumbling out the window.

_Damn you!_

Both knights rolled across the roof, out into the snow. Both knights tumbled off. Both knights fell onto the ground with a loud 'thud.'

_Damn you Lowell…I swear, when I…_

Harken's thoughts trailed off. After tonight, he'd be lucky to do anything again. And come to think of it, he _had _pined for a fight earlier on. Only in his imagination, it didn't end with his posterior being on the cold ground.

"Are you alright, good sir?"

He looked up and saw a guard and an elderly man looking down on him, the latter bearing the sign of the Five Fingers of the Fallen God. Likely a preacher.

"It is good timing, if I may say so myself," the man said. "I was giving a sermon of the Fallen God. Are you here for it?"

"Sermon my arse," the guard muttered.

Harken sighed and rested his head back on the cold ground. "That's right," he groaned, feeling a sudden urge for wine. "That's exactly what I'm here for."

Lowell belched.

**The End**

* * *

_A/N_

_This was actually the first chapter of this story that I wrote, but it got put at the end. It was based on the intro of "John hated fancy parties because there was never no sense to them: no kegs, no plain speaking, no fights to liven things up some."_

_Anyway, that's this story finished. Don't have any other _Lords of the Fallen _stories on my 'to write' list right now. Currently working on a _StarCraft _story titled _Downfall _for what it's worth._


End file.
